


Autumn

by missduncan



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missduncan/pseuds/missduncan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gardening isn't something Grace normally enjoys, but this time she's willing to make an exception...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn

**Autumn**

"Anything more you want me to store away before winter?" Boyd asks, stretching his back in what looks like an attempt to ease sore muscles. Dressed in old jeans and a sweater, both stained and mucky from the wet ground and the pots and plants he's been irritably wrestling with, and with shadows on his cheeks and jaw clearly telling of a missed morning shave, he's a long way from resembling his ordinary, well-groomed appearance. But, as she observes him from her position seated in the pale rays of autumn sunshine, relaxing on a thick pillow placed on the steps up to the back door of her house, Grace can't help but think that he seems so much more at ease than he normally does during working hours.

A large woollen blanket wrapped around her back and shoulders, Grace folds her hands around a big, steaming mug with tea and keeps her eyes fixed on Boyd as a tiny smile plays across her lips. Watching him partake in hard, physical work really is a pastime she could all too easily become accustomed – even addicted – to, she muses. The sight of him, all hot, sweaty and with a muddy smudge on his nose... it does something for her – something on a very base level.

Spending a Saturday afternoon in the garden – especially this late in the year – is not something she'd normally enjoy, but, thanks to the sun, the tea and the spectacular view, today it seems truly worthwhile. After a brief pause, Boyd continues, a touch of sarcasm clear in his voice. "Are you sure there isn't anything else you want me to do? More garden furniture or tools to put away, not a tiny leaf left somewhere you want me to pick up?"

Without expressing a single word, Grace slowly shakes her head; keeping her fingers tightly intertwined around the mug, she lifts it to her lips and takes a deep sip, maintaining the eye contact between them over the rim, and deliberately hiding her thoughts from him.

"Last chance," Boyd goes on, hints of mockery and annoyance becoming clearer in his voice. "Are you absolutely positive you don't have any more plant pots hiding around, or any more delicate bushes in need of covering so they don't die from the cold?"

Closing her eyes to enjoy the last of the warmth from the sun, she tunes him out, deliberately choosing to ignore his provocation but he goes on, still goading her, trying to get a response. Opening one eye slightly, she takes him in as he stands, hands on hips, a single eyebrow raised in question. There's something really appealing about him, she thinks; big, muscular, unkempt – so dirty. Strong features set in a somewhat impatient expression, his thoughtful, dark eyes glaring down at her with a hint of a simmering irritation, and his hair, grey, very tousled, and slightly damp from the exertion hanging down in his eyes. Shaking his head, he tries to put it right buta haircut is definitely needed, she notes, and more – there's a wad of something green stuck behind his ear and her fingers itch to go through the soft strands to remove it.

Her eyes glide slowly down from his face and focus on his torso – it’s such a shame the weather's so cold, she muses, there's definitely not a chance of him stripping off his sweater and allowing her to enjoy the outline of muscle beneath his t-shirt. But then, it isn't really necessary; the sweater is old and a little too tight, and every time he moves, it moves as well, revealing the bare skin of his lower back. Taking a sip of her tea again, she hums with pleasure as she contemplates the sight... his arms, back, and shoulders… it's a view she never gets tired of. She shakes her head at her own folly, but without taking her eyes away from him. Right now, he could reallydo with a shower and before her inner eye, she begins to undress him – layer by layer the wet, muddy clothes disappear from his body, exposing soft, warm skin, contours of strong muscles... Stop it, Grace! Stop at once – don't go down that road, she scolds herself, firmly attempting totake control of her thoughts again.

"Ahem! Daydreaming, are we?" His voice brings her back to reality, makes her refocus. He's watching her now, eyes piercing as he apparently contemplates how relaxed and cosy she appears. She has absolutely no intention of moving from her comfy seat, though, but now his displeasure is beginning to show. "Well, if that's it then, I'll lock up the shed." He turns around and heads for the back of the garden, but though he disappears from sight she's still easily able to follow his path – he's never mastered the art of being quiet.

Soon she hears him approach again and Grace glances up, briefly observing him bending down beside a bush before returning to the warm, cosy world of her daydreams. Suddenly, though, his voice distracts her thoughts and disturbs her as he calls out, "This is a bloody awful birdbath you've got hidden away here, but why on earth is it under the bushes? How do you think the birds are ever going to find it?" He laughs softly, still studying the ugly object.

"As you say, it's hideous. Just take a look at the ugly frog sitting on the edge." Grace replies, eyes still shut, a dreamy smile on her face as she refuses to move away from her spot in the sun. “It's a nightmare for me to look at and it probably frightens the birds away, too, but it was already there when I bought the house. It's too heavy for me to remove, that's why I planted the quick growing bush beside it with the sole intention of hiding it. But please, feel free to do so, if you would like. I'd be delighted," she answers, not bothering to shield the mischief in her voice.

"Just so you can enjoy the sight of me carrying the monster? I don't think so – it must weigh half a tonne," he contemplates dryly, straightening himself up in his full height as, with a shake of his head, he moves to take a seat beside her on the steps, automatically curling an arm around her.

Feeling his physical presence at her side, Grace shifts her body in his direction, almost melting into him as her head tilts to find her favourite, natural resting spot against his shoulder. It's a real treat to watch him doing the garden work, but sitting together in the sun is even better, and, purely out of sheer contentment, she starts to hum softly.

She feels him change his seat slightly, no doubt glancing down on her from the corner of his eye, amused by her. "Still daydreaming, are you?" he asks, squeezing her shoulder gently.

"Yes, I am," she confesses, "I was listening to the radio playing in the kitchen. That song was on, the one you played for me on your guitar when I found the instrument in your loft last summer."

"You mean when you didn't believe it was mine?"

"You surprised me; I'd never taken you for the musical type,” Grace admits. "But it was a nice surprise to discover that you have such artistic ability."

"Artistic ability, my arse!" he snorts, dipping his head down to place a light kiss on the tip of her nose. "Anyone with basic guitar skills should be able to play that song – there's nothing artistic about it, but thank you anyway." His arm squeezes around her fondly as he rests his head against her hair. “Christ, I'm thirsty,” he hints.

Carefully placing the mug beside her she slowly reaches out to brush some dirt from his thigh, making a show of contemplating his implied request. Tilting her head, she gazes up at him, her eyes shining with mischief as she moves so he can get up. "Tea pot's in the kitchen, Peter; why don't you fetch yourself a cup?"

He's fast, so fast she doesn't have a chance to escape. One hand catches hold of her wrist, pulling her body into his embrace, while his other arm tightens around her shoulders, holding her in a grip she has no chance to escape from. She feels him shifting slightly and immediately after his nose starts to nuzzle her behind her ear, working its way down her neck and under her blanket. Shivering, both from the touch of his cold nose, but also from the sheer pleasure of his caresses, her arms automatic go around his broad frame as she presses her body flush to his in a heated embrace.

His mouth close to her ear, she hears him whisper. “Oh, come on, you sat there objectifying me all afternoon while I was working!"

Laughing happily, she pushes away from him and slips out of his arms. "And?"

Before she gets the opportunity to move further, though, she's pulled back into his embrace again; her back flush with his chest, strong arms snuggling around her and his voice deep and with an edge of something predatory murmuringinto her ear, "And I don't want a bloody cup of tea! I want a bottle of beer!"

Pressing her head back into his chest, she folds her arms in front of her and brings them to rest upon his. With her eyes closed, she delights in the proximity of him, the warmth his body provides her with, the way he blatantly presses his hips against her. She enjoys the wonderful, exquisite feeling of shivers running through her as he brushes light kisses behind her ear, working his way down her neck again. He keeps one arm firmly locked around her waist while his other hand begins to wander, seeking out her most sensitive spots, teasing her body in the most delicate way.

So many physical and emotional impressions wreak havoc with her mind and body, thrills rippling all over her sensitive skin, especially the back of her left hand. The feeling is very soft, almost airy, andlight as a feather – a strange, but very sensual feeling. Opening her eyes, she gazes down at their comfortably intertwined hands and identifies the object of the wonderful sensation – a big, fat spider with thick, hairy legs crawling across her skin and heading further on up under her sleeve.

Shrieking in horror, she yanks herself out of his hold, pulling the blanket from her shoulders and frantically beginning to unbutton the thick jacket she’s wearing underneath, trying the pull the fabric from her shoulder even before it's completely unfastened.

Utterly mystified, Boyd stares at her in bewilderment and exclaims, "What on earth's the matter? What are you doing?" He takes a step towards her and she feels his hands on her upper arms, stilling her hectic movements, thoughhis voice barely reaches through her terror. "Look at me, Grace! What's going on?” His eyes are full of concern as he gazes down at her, as he softly says, "Calm down, it's far too cold to be stripping off out here."

Trying to inhale slowly and calm herself, Grace can still hear the trembling in her voice as she speaks. "A spider! A bloody spider! It crawled up under my sleeve. I can feel it – please, help me!" She shakes her arm desperately, still trying to unbutton her jacket, tears now streaming down her cheeks as she stumbles over the last few words.

 Feeling his strong hands reaching for the buttons, unfastening them for her, she senses the jacket being pulled from her shoulders, and, gazing down, she observes him quickly seizing her left arm to begin his search for the spider, his fingers probing up and down her arm.

Looking up she glances into his sparkling dark eyes, sees the amusement that is so clear in his gaze. "I found it. Look, I found it. You can relax now – such a tiny little thing."

In a desperate attempt to avoid the spider as he reaches towards her, she takes a step back, crying, "Just kill it. Just kill it!"

From a safe distance, she watches him squash the spider and then flick the remains from his fingers before turning towards her. He opens his arms and she almost tumbles into the security of his embrace, her arms immediately snuggling around his body. "It's all right. Everything is okay now," he comforts her, placing a light kiss on her forehead, hugging her tightly.

"Let's go inside, I'm freezing," she says, shivering.

His arm wraps comfortingly around her shoulder and gently leads her towards the kitchen door. "Come on then, I'll warm you up." Hearing the soft, husky note in his words, she looks up into his face, sees the smug expression there, and simply raises an eyebrow in response.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my response to a challenge between Joodiff, Got Tea and me. The agreed elements were: music –Boyd playing his guitar, either for Grace spontaneously or because she gets him to do it somehow, a frog, a spider, and a bottle of beer. Word limit – between 1000 and 1500 words.  
> Many thanks to Got Tea for the Beta. Without all her never ending encouragement, help, and kind support this wouldn't be here. Thank you so much to everybody who takes the time to read this story – please, leave a few words to tell me what you think.


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